Returning to the county opera troupe in 77

In the row of dormitories on the east side of the theater troupe, only Chen Xiangdong lived.

When the staff were initially allocated housing, everyone complained that this place was remote, far from the canteen, the water room, and the rehearsal hall.

However, after moving here, Chen Xiangdong discovered that this was the rarest quiet place in the compound, where he could do whatever he wanted without being discovered by anyone.

Yu Baoliang strode across the front yard, glancing back as he turned the corner to make sure no one had seen him before quickening his pace eastward.

When he arrived at the dormitory entrance, he glanced left and right, then reached out and gently pushed the door open. The door was unlocked and opened easily.

Yu Baoliang slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

As soon as he entered the house, he leaned against the door, his heart pounding like a drum.

His eyes quickly scanned the room. There was a table, a bed, two chairs, and a washbasin stand. There was nothing else. Where was the letter of complaint?

He was sweating profusely. There was definitely no place to hide anything on the tables and chairs. He took two steps to the small bed against the wall and hurriedly started to rummage through the bedding.

Just as he was bending over and rummaging under his pillow, he suddenly heard a creaking sound of a door opening behind him.

As if he had stepped on a mousetrap, Yu Baoliang suddenly straightened up and turned around abruptly.

He was still half-holding the pillow in his hand, and the bedding was a mess.

He stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with terror, his old face turning red from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears.

Looking at the two figures standing at the door, his lips trembled twice, and he managed to squeeze out a few words: "Old... Old Qin..."

His eyes darted around frantically, glancing at Fatty Qin at the door and then at Chen Xiangdong, before quickly looking away as if his gaze had been burned.

Qin Pangzi gripped the door frame with one hand, his expression unreadable—whether it was anger or something else—he just stared at Yu Baoliang for a moment, then turned and left without saying a word.

Chen Xiangdong sighed at Yu Baoliang, who was standing there dumbfounded, unsure of what to do with his hands and feet, and then walked away.

"Dongwa, I..."

Yu Baoliang wanted to speak in his defense, but the words caught in his throat. The two had already walked away, and Yu Baoliang's mind went completely blank as he watched their departing figures.

He knew he was completely finished. Once the truth about writing the anonymous whistleblower letter was revealed, he would never be able to hold his head up in the theater troupe's compound again. The spittle from the staff alone would drown him...

Fatty Qin returned to the kitchen doorway, lit a cigarette, and his expression was unusually calm: "It really is him..."

"Knowing who it is is enough."

Chen Xiangdong stood beside him, glancing back towards the backyard: "He knows what he's doing, which is more effective than us confronting him directly. Let him think it over and see if he dares to have any more crooked ideas. We should also be more careful ourselves, so we don't get tricked again."

Fatty Qin nodded and sighed, "Alright, I know."

"What are you two doing standing at the door? Hurry up and cook some vegetables, it's almost lunchtime!"

Li Qiufen's urging voice came from the kitchen. Fatty Qin replied, "Coming, coming," stubbed out his cigarette on the door frame, tossed it on the ground, and turned to go into the kitchen.

.........

The next day, just as dawn was breaking.

Chen Xiangdong went to the small storeroom behind the theater early in the morning and carried the heavy prop beams with Feng Zhengxiao and Han Zhengkui.

The beams and pillars were made by Hu Xiaolian from old pine wood, and after being painted, they actually looked quite decent.

Hu Xiaolian followed behind, carrying a slightly worn prop box. Inside the box was the culmination of his hard work these past few days, which also contained the entire set for the performance of "Stealing the Armor".

Han Zhengkui glanced back at Hu Xiaolian's cautious manner, as if he were holding his own grandson, and couldn't help but laugh and tease him: "Old Hu, you'd better keep a close eye on this box. Whether we old guys can show our faces depends entirely on this."

Hu Xiaolian chuckled: "Of course, this is all the hard work I've put into it these past few days."

As he spoke, he reached out and patted the box: "The set design for 'The Thief of Armor' is all in here. I need to personally oversee it and see how it performs on stage. It'll also let the young people in the troupe know that this old doorman isn't just good at guarding the gate."

Chen Xiangdong turned around and asked, "Teacher Hu, you've gone to the countryside too. Who's going to look after our troupe?"

Hu Xiaolian said, "I've already spoken to Xu Xiaoshuan and asked him to cover for me for a few days."

The group hurried towards the courtyard gate. Fang Zhengsheng carried Han Zhengkui's faded gray cloth bundle, bulging with costumes and a few props. He followed behind them, muttering, "Hurry up! Hurry up! We don't want to miss the train!"

When they arrived at the theater, the entrance was already crowded with people, and four tractors were parked in a row along the roadside.

The props alone filled a whole truck, and there were two tractors specifically for transporting people. The trainees and actors were all crammed into the truck bed.

"Dongwa, over here! Over here!"

In the sidecar of the last tractor, Fatty Qin was leaning halfway out, waving at him.

Besides the kitchen utensils and several prop boxes, there was still plenty of empty space in the car, which Zhu Zhengkuo had specifically instructed him to reserve.

Chen Xiangdong and several old men carried the roof beams towards the last truck. The actors and trainees in the front truck all looked back curiously. He Jianshe stood up from the truck bed, put his hand on the edge of the truck, and shouted to them, "Brother Kui, what are you doing carrying roof beams?"

Han Zhengkui just chuckled at him: "You'll see when the time comes."

"Hey! This old man has learned to keep things mysterious!" He Jianshe muttered to himself, then sat back down on the stool.

Fatty Qin had already jumped off the truck and was helping Feng Zhengxiao and the others lift the roof beam into the truck bed. Several people bent over and joined hands, shouting "one, two, three," and steadily placed the roof beam horizontally in the truck bed.

After the old men had all climbed onto the car, Zhu Zhengkuo hurriedly ran over from the front yard, carrying the neatly rolled-up quilts.

He ran to the last car, threw his rolled-up bedding onto it, then used the edge of the car to climb on as well. He found a seat next to Fang Zhengsheng and called out, "Is everyone here?"

From the car in front came scattered responses: "All here!" "They're all here!"

"Everyone's here, let's go!"

With a cheerful wave of his hand, Zhu Zhengkuo drove four tractors, puffing out black smoke, slowly out of Dongping County.

Hongxing Commune is a full forty li (about 20 kilometers) from the county seat. The road conditions are extremely bumpy. Once you leave the county seat, the road changes from a stone-paved road to a dirt road, and finally to a potholed farm road.

The people in the truck bed were jolted up and down, with some being bounced up and then falling back down every now and then. The truck almost broke apart from the jolting.

Four tractors trailed long plumes of dust, and in the back three trucks, especially Guan Linlin and Song Linfeng, the people kept complaining. They had been eating dust the whole way, their clothes and mouths were covered in dirt, and they had to skip lunch.